Twilight
by Bjara
Summary: Lady Jaina witnesses Prince Arthas begin to lose his tenuous grip on sanity as the Plague of Undeath strikes at the villages of Lordaeron.
1. The Plague Spreads

Jaina Proudmoore dismounted from her horse as one of the camp hands rushed to help her down and stable the horse. She murmured a soft thanks before looking up at the other approaching figure: Arthas Menethil, Prince of Lordaeron.

"Ah!" the flaxen-haired prince said, pressing his hand to his chest in a playful gesture. "The rose of the battlefield!"

Jaina could not help but notice that the humor in his voice was strained, and the warm glint in his eyes faded quickly. He had, she knew, a penchant for burying his emotions beneath his princely obligations and a wicked wit, but at the moment, he was doing a poor job of it.

"Good morning, Arthas," she said, offering him a kind smile. She stood back and gave the man a concerned once-over glance. "Battle has taken its toll on you, it seems."

And indeed it had—the paladin prince's face was pallid & haggard; there was several days' worth of stubble along his sharp jaw and dark circles ringed his weary green eyes. His armor and mace, however, were as they always were—a pristine, shining silver. Above all else, Jaina noted to herself with some humor, he kept his paladin's accoutrements unblemished.

"Well, my lady," he began in a tight and overly-formal voice, "I apologize if my appearance is unseemly to you, but as you can see—" he gestured to the muddy encampment around them, strewn with busy soldiers, some wounded, "appearances are not foremost on our minds at the present."

"Arthas," Jaina sighed, reaching out for the prince's arm, "That's not what I meant. I just—"

"Don't worry about it," Arthas said, pulling his arm away from her and waving a dismissive hand. He turned from her, striding toward the largest tent. "I _am _glad you're here, Jaina. I can't—I can't figure out what is happening to these people."

The pair walked into the tent, where Arthas pulled up one of the better chairs for Jaina before collapsing into a simple wooden one himself. He cradled his forehead in his hands, pale locks of hair spilling over his long fingers.

"This is not—this is no simple plague, Jaina. These people do not just fester and die, they—" he looked up at her through his fingers. "I don't know what to do. I'm glad you're here. Maybe we've bothered too much with holiness and weaponry and mundane measures. It has to be magic in origin. _I don't know what to do."_

Internally, Jaina was shocked to hear such an admission from the prince, who had always been headstrong to the point of arrogance before now. He had always prided himself on being in charge. People considered him brash, even for a royal. She did the only thing she knew to do, and leaned forward to stroke the back of his head comfortingly, like she remembered her mother doing when she was young.

"Whatever is happening, we'll figure out how to stop it together," she told him.

Arthas took her free hand in his own and kissed her fingertips. He rested his head against her chest and exhaled deeply.

"I hope we can," he whispered into the crook of her neck.

Someone cleared his throat, and Jaina and Arthas leapt away from each other, both faces reddening. Arthas' mentor, Uther Lightbringer, stood in the entrance to the tent, his form so large that the mighty warhammer at his hip seemed dwarfed compared to him. His armor shone as brightly as Arthas' did.

"Hello, Uther," Arthas said, standing up and quickly regaining his composure. The man Jaina had comforted only moments earlier had completely dissolved, and the confident, collected Prince Arthas had once again taken center stage.

"Prince Arthas," Uther nodded. He turned to Lady Jaina and bowed deeply. "Lady Proudmoore. It is good to have someone with such magical talent here. Has the Prince told you of our situation? It may be somewhat dire at the moment, I'm afraid."

"I was briefed in Dalaran. . ." Jaina hesitated.

The corner of Sir Uther's mouth twitched upward in a grim half-smile under his graying moustache. "I am not usually one to disagree with the Kirin Tor, my lady. However, there is no way that they could have prepared you for what you will see here. His Highness tells me you are quite strong-willed, which I am grateful for. You'll need it. I think. . .I think, regrettably, that the best way to let you understand what is happening here in Lordaeron is to _show _you." He turned back to Arthas. "I have something to show the both of you."

Arthas and Jaina exchanged furtive glances, and followed Uther to the outskirts of the barren encampment, past a series of bonfires. The air was ripe with the stench of charred flesh, but Arthas and Uther must have dealt with it for so long that they no longer noticed. Jaina discreetly put her hand over her nose and mouth as they walked past several soldiers heaving corpses into the fires. Some, Jaina noted, were horribly mutilated, and some seemingly unscathed.

"We have resorted to burning all of the dead, not just the ones we know are infected," Uther said solemnly. "But they are given a proper send off by our priests."

"It's a necessary precaution," Arthas said, almost defensively. "We can't let this spread."

"Now keep your distance," Uther warned. They approached a small gathering of soldiers. "We're not sure how contagious this beast is, or even if it really _is _dead."

The soldiers parted for the trio as they approached. At the sight before them, Arthas leaned away, holding a hand in front of him and scrunching up his face in disgust. "Oh," he said. "Oh, damn. Did it follow you home, Uther?"

Jaina nearly retched when she saw the bloated, grotesque figure on the matted grass in front of them. The foul odor of decay hung thickly over the corpse. Ropey, ragged innards spilled from the creature's swollen grey stomach. Jaina blanched and looked away from the sight to Uther, who stood wit his hands clasped behind his back, staring intently at the body.

"Is it even _human?" _she asked.

Uther shrugged, his bushy brows inching upward. "It—It looks to have been, well, _created, _lady. See the seams?"

And in fact, Jaina _did _see where the patchy pieces of sallow flesh were sewn together. She ran through all of her knowledge of necromancy and the various dark arts, trying to think of what this might be, what could be done about it. In the end, all she knew is that the unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach would not go away any time soon.

"Did you find it like this or did you kill it yourselves?" Arthas said in a sober, hoarse voice.

"We found it quite alive—or animated, at least—lumbering through the forest to the east."

"Brill. . ." Arthas murmured, turning from the body.

"Yes," Uther said. "Should we check on the town?"

The two paladins' conversation faded from Jaina's ears as she crept nearer to the body. The closer she got, the more she could feel the dark magic emanating from it, corrupting the surrounding air, corrupting the air around Jaina. The woman shuddered and stepped back.

"This is strong, strong necromancy," she said suddenly, interrupting the two men. They turned toward her in unison. "This _thing _is dripping with all sorts of dark magic. Powerful stuff."

"You're certain?" Arthas asked.

"Yes." Jaina said. "And not to be alarmist, but I would not doubt that demons were involved. I can feel their taint on this creature."

Uther and Arthas both frowned. Arthas muttered a curse under his breath and walked away, hands balled up into fists. In his frustration, he kicked over a nearby chair. A few soldiers had gathered nearby, watching.

"Arthas," Uther said sternly. "Calm down."

"_Calm down_?" Arthas hissed, whirling around to face the elder paladin. The broken vessels in the whites of his eyes only served to brighten the green irises, making them appear almost animal-like. "This is my _kingdom, _Uther. These are my people that are being infected with Light knows what! I'm terribly sorry if I'm losing a bit of composure, but under the circumstances, I _think_ it's understandable!"

"It's my kingdom too, boy," Uther growled. "And there's no use throwing a fit about this. You've got to lead your troops, now. I believe we should go toward Brill, since that's the area we found this abomination in. _Do you agree?" _

Uther sounded not unlike a very grave, very angry father with those last words and Arthas, though glowering, managed to get himself together. "It's the only clue we have to go on," he said, suddenly sounding very weary. "Round up a cadre of men, but leave some at the camp to keep guard. Jaina, you may make yourself at home in the tent we were just in. Help yourself to anything you like, and wait for our return."

Jaina cocked an eyebrow, looking incredulous. "I'm going _with _you, Arthas. You'll need me out there. Neither of you are trained to deal with magic like I am."

Arthas folded his massive arms over his chest and gave her a disapproving stare, but Uther spoke up: "She's right. And it's why she's here, after all."

"But Uther—" Arthas protested. Uther held up his hand.

"In fact, she'd likely be safer with us than at the encampment."

Arthas inhaled deeply, and shook his head. "Your father would never forgive me if anything were to happen to you, Jaina." He slung a pack over his steed, a massive white stallion bedecked in the white and blue of Lordaeron's flag. Arthas looked back at Jaina with an intense, enigmatic gaze. "And truthfully, neither would I."

"You have known me long enough to know I am not one of those porcelain doll noblewomen you all have on the mainland," Jaina replied, taking Arthas aside and grabbing his elbow. "I won't crumble at the first sign of threat."

Arthas had not forgotten that, not that she'd ever let him—Jaina was every bit, even more so, the lady that the noblewomen of Lordaeron were. But she'd grown up the apple of her father's eye in Kul Tiras, running wild in the port city, unpretentious and sun-kissed, compared to the alabaster princesses of Arthas' own realm. When her mother died, she had been one of the few women in the palace of her island nation, and so became greatly influenced by her father and brother. She was more interested in politics and history than dresses and perfumes.

It did not mean, however, that Arthas did not instinctively try to protect her from danger.

"Fine." he sighed, casting his eyes toward the noonday sun. "But ride close to me, and if we DO run into any problems, you stay back unless Uther or I tell you otherwise, understand?"

Jaina rolled her eyes. "So controlling! You'll make a _great _king."

A frown crossed Arthas' face until Jaina playfully hit him in the shoulder and began to walk back toward the rest of the camp.

"Don't worry, I'll _try _to stay alive," she said, looking back at him and smiling. He could not help but not smile back and follow her.


	2. Twilight Approaches

The heavy roof of summer leaves overhead blocked out most of the sun and covered the forest in a deep shade. Uther, Jaina, and Arthas all remained silent, tense—each on edge, watching out for any sign of undead. Uther, who was riding a bit ahead of the other two, pulled the reigns of his mount and stopped.

"There's a cottage yon," he said, pointing toward a cozy looking home some distance into the woods. Jaina and Arthas came up behind him. "We should check on them."

Arthas nodded.

"And if they're plagued?" Jaina asked.

"We kill them." Arthas said quickly.

Uther looked back at his pupil, and Jaina detected some sort of wariness, sadness perhaps, in his gaze.

"Well, nothing to do but go see." Uther said, jerking on his reigns again.

The trio approached the cottage—really nothing more than a small stone home, with a slightly overgrown garden to the side. Nothing seemed to stir—a solitary bird chirping somewhere in the trees above was all they heard.

Arthas slowed his steed into a trot, circling the perimeter of the house. He stopped by the garden, looking at his two comrades.

"I don't think anyone's home," he said.

Uther strode up, peering in one of the windows. "Aye, it looks empty. For the best, I'd wager. On to Brill, then."

Uther had just turned his horse away from the window when the glass panes shattered and a bony hand dug its talons into the paladin's shoulder with great force, dragging him from his horse, which whinnied and reared before backing away. Uther let out a great cry and came face to face with the ghoulish creature that had attacked him. It was a mass of blood and bone and exposed muscle, and was about to rend Uther's arm from the socket when it began to scream in agony. Ice was beginning to climb up what was left of its gnarled legs; in the distance, Jaina was chanting a spell to keep him that way. At the same time, Arthas charged the ghoul and swung his great hammer, smashing the side of its head. The creature convulsed and fell, bleeding from its head, as Jaina's ice spell shattered.

The creature lay still and broken.

Uther got up, breathing heavily and dusting himself off. Arthas and Jaina stood side-by-side, both looking down at the ghoul they had killed.

"Are you alright, Uther?" Jaina asked.

"I'm fine, my lady. Thank you." He strapped a mithril epaulet that had fallen from his shoulder in the attack back onto his armor. "Prince Arthas, you know not to get too close to that thing."

Arthas was crouching beside the corpse, not touching it, but studying it intently, lost in thought. "Do you think it lived in this cottage once?"

Jaina leaned down, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's best not to think about it, Arthas."

Arthas looked up at her, his handsome face suddenly ashen. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemingly thought better of it and climbed to his feet, armor clanking.

"We ride _quickly _to Brill," he said, mounting his steed that had returned to the clearing. "I want to get to the end of this. Lordaeron won't be destroyed, not under my watch."

The trio knew Brill to be a charming, pastoral town, surrounded by verdant hills and lush forests. As they reached the edge of the forest and came upon the hill above the city, however, they all stopped dead in their tracks.

"Light help us!" gasped Uther.

The city below them smelled of rot and death. They faced a mass grave, gray bodies piled high, festering. . .Jaina thought she actually saw some of them_moving _just a bit, but kept that information to herself in the hope that it was only her overactive imagination.

"No. No, damn it." Arthas spurred his horse on faster down the hill. Uther and Jaina followed close behind, no one saying a word.

The town was not teeming with undead as Arthas feared it might be. They found two—both easily dispatched with deftness by Arthas and Uther. They were the only ones. Mostly, they found that house after house, all of the buildings they checked— were either empty or littered with corpses still in bed or chairs, even curled up on the floor. All had purple, bloated faces frozen in agony.

After checking the last house, Arthas left it and stepped onto the mossy cobblestone of the town square. He dropped his warhammer to the ground and pounded his fist into a nearby wooden post and let out a primal, wordless scream, long and miserable. Jaina and Uther watched on in silence. Jaina had taken a step closer to him, but Uther pulled her back, shaking his head.

The scream faded into a series of wracking sobs as Arthas leaned his head against the post, shoulders heaving.

"This isn't going to happen to Lordaeron! I can't—I protect these people, rule them, I---_What is happening?"_

"Arthas. . ." Uther began, but was cut off by Arthas striding to the middle of the town square, arms akimbo, posed for a challenge.

"What do you _want_from me?" Arthas yelled, head turned upward toward the gloomy sky. "Face me, you cowards! Face me!"

The air fell silent for a moment before footsteps sounded on the cobblestone. A gaunt, crimson robed figure stepped out from behind a nearby house, hands behind his back. His aged, wan face carried an unnervingly pleasant smile.

"I know you!" Jaina cried suddenly. "Antonidas exiled you from the Kirin Tor because you were dabbling in _necromancy. _Kel'Thuzad." She snorted and shook her head. "I should have realized. . ."

"And how nice to see_you_ again as well, Lady Proudmoore. I see the old dolt is sending you out to do his dirty work, then! And you—" here, the fallen warlock tilted his head toward Arthas. "You must be Terenas' whelp."

Arthas picked his hammer back up and both he and Uther stepped forward, prepared to confront the man.

"I am Prince Arthas Menethil." He said, his face contorting into a raged look. "Are you responsible for this?"

"More or less," Kel'Thuzad smiled again, shrugging. "But now, I believe we shall test your mettle a bit."

At those words, a small force of undead emerged from the shadows behind Kel'Thuzad. There were terrible, giant abominations like the one they had found in the forest, undead clinging to their last bits of skin, and even reanimated skeletons, all advancing toward the trio, wielding all manner of weapons.

Arthas gave a loud battle-shout and ran toward the army, his warhammer raised above his head.


End file.
